Riding Accident
by LadyDivine91
Summary: Kurt goes to the E.R. for an embarrassing reason, which gets compounded when they end up assigned to see their six-year-old daughter's pediatrician. Klaine. Kurt H. Blaine A.


_**Notes:**_

_**Written for the Klaine Advent Drabble Challenge 2019 prompt 'beer'.**_

"I don't want to tell her," Kurt mopes, eyes shifting away from his obnoxious husband's face since it's too painful to turn his whole head. As an actor, Blaine should be better at sympathizing. Or better pretending to, at least.

But he's failing miserably.

"You might have to, honey."

"She'll be disappointed in me."

"She won't be disappointed in you."

"Why does it have to be _her _anyway? I mean, of all the doctors in Manhattan, we go to the E.R. and end up seeing Tracy's pediatrician!?"

"She's on rotation," Blaine explains, having inquired with the nurse after the first half dozen mortified times Kurt asked. "The E.R.'s slammed. We didn't have much of a choice. Be grateful she _is_ here. She's the reason the hospital didn't turn us away and send us to Urgent Care."

"Yeah, well, that won't last long."

"What do you mean?"

"Once she hears why we're here, she'll kick me out."

"She's a medical professional," Blaine coos, taking off his coat and draping it over his husband to keep him from getting cold. "She won't kick you out. And maybe, if you're completely honest with her, she'll have some advice for you so this won't happen next time."

Kurt shoots a disgusted look at his ridiculous spouse grinning like a viper. "The way you keep smiling like you just won the Indie 500 there probably won't _be_ a next time."

Blaine chuckles. "I'm sorry. I just … I'm not helping. I know. What can I do to make this better, hmm? Anything I can get you?"

"I could really use a beer."

"You don't drink beer!"

"True, but I don't think they sell tequila in the hospital cafeteria and I can't see myself going into this sober."

_Knock-knock-knock._

Kurt's eyes snap to the door. That knock. He knows that knock. It's the doctor knock. He'd been waiting throughout their conversation for it, heralding the end of any comfort he may feel for the next few years of his life.

"Come in," Blaine calls without consulting him, which makes Kurt's frown deepen and his annoyance at his weirdly smug husband grow.

"Mr. Hummel? Mr. Ander-Hummel?" A familiar face and high blonde bun pops through a crack in the door.

"Hi, Dr. Parsons," Blaine says. "Come on in."

"How are my favorite parents doing today?" she asks and Kurt dies inside. "Not too good, from what I hear."

"No, not too good," Kurt says before Blaine continues answering for him.

"I see, I see." She walks in the room, letting the heavy door close behind her. "It says here that you're experiencing extreme lower back pain, that it hurts to stand, to sit, to walk …"

"Yes, Doctor."

"Did you have a fall?" She stops beside the examination table and smiles down at him.

"You might say it was a riding accident," Blaine jumps in, bursting immediately after into a fit of adolescent laughter. Kurt shoots him a glare, but takes a deep, cleansing breath, determined to continue with as much dignity as he can muster.

"Horses? Or ATVs?" Dr. Parsons asks, flashing that professional but innocent smile that only pediatricians have. Kurt swallows hard, praying he can get through this quickly and head home, preferably with a prescription of powerful painkillers, the kind that help you forget stressful situations. Blaine was right. He needs to be honest, whether it kills him or not. But how can he be honest about this with this woman in particular? The woman who delivered his daughter? Tracy's only six! They have twelve more years of seeing this woman ahead of them! And every time she looks at him, she's going to think about the next words coming out of his mouth.

"Actually, I got hurt having sex so technically … my husband?"

Dr. Parsons looks at Kurt sideways, her face suddenly blank. "Oh …"

In the corner of the room, drifting farther and farther away, Blaine nearly chokes on his tongue.

"I don't understand how it happened," Kurt rushes, trying to bring this conversation back to an adult tier. "I-I used to be a dancer. I'm more flexible than …"

At the word _flexible_, Blaine stumbles red-faced and gasping out of the room.

But his howling laughter, bleeding through the door, remains.

"It's okay, Mr. Hummel," Dr. Parsons says with a reassuring smile. "It's actually quite common to injure oneself during sex. Or doing _any_ activity, strenuous or no. Some of the most painful injuries I see can happen when you're not exerting yourself – walking, jogging, picking up something light. At best, you just pulled a muscle, but I'm going to order up some x-rays. Rule out a herniated disc. And let's get you something for the pain."

"Thank you so much, Doctor," Kurt sighs with relief and regret. "And I'm sorry."

"For what, Mr. Hummel?"

"That after today, I'll need to find Tracy a new pediatrician. Because I don't think I'll be able to walk into your office and look you in the eye ever again. Also, I'm thinking about murdering my husband."

Blaine snorts during the pause. Kurt shuts his eyes.

"Correction. I am going to murder my husband."

"Well, I'm okay with the latter, but not the former," Dr. Parsons says with a wink. "We're adults here. Believe me, I've heard it all before. Plus, I'd miss Tracy too much. Besides, good pediatricians are difficult to find in this city."


End file.
